


Forever and Never Again

by godsbow_lithium



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Longing, Moments, Spoilers, finality, fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsbow_lithium/pseuds/godsbow_lithium
Summary: There had always been something about Noctis that Ignis couldn’t quite place. His taciturn nature was constantly weaving in and out of silence and darkness. Occasionally he came up for air, then disappeared into his murky waters again. Ignis knew he didn't do it on purpose, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. But, like the sunrise over Lucis, Ignis illuminated and warmed those waters, a light cutting through the surface like the scar on Noctis' back. So it had always been; but Ignis had risen over a barren land these last 10 years, without him.Without life.____________________Ignis reflects on his time in the darkness. He keeps himself hopeful by continuing to cook Noctis' tarts for him, awaiting his return and the return of his taste testing. His prince - his king - propels him forward; more accurately thememoryof his king keeps him going, and his longing is likely to tear him apart.





	Forever and Never Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clevagirl (lescafenix)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lescafenix/gifts).



> Prompt: "I would love to see an exploration of Noctis through Ignis's eyes in some way, shape or form. What does Ignis see in him/admire about him/love about him?"

Every so often Ignis made his way to the bright lights of a city he could no longer see - but the stink of Lestallum guided his way. It was packed to overflowing with refugees from the bitter night, bodies piled one on top of the other, all desperate, all afraid.

Flour.   
Eggs  
Vanilla  
Baking powder.

These were the tools of his trade. His daggers were lifeless steel in his hands without a king to guide them.

It would be safe to say that the Scientia family was well off. But the Darkness didn't discriminate based on social class. Gil had long since become obsolete in an era of survival of the fittest - goods and services screamed the loudest now. Regularly, Ignis sold himself for ingredients. Lestallum had turned into a place for those that either adapted, or were fodder for the strong. He would not let himself be devoured - not before he saw him again - and so he used the eternal currency of his body. Lestallum  bought and sold in flesh now, and Ignis had always been willing to pay any price for his prince.

Now he paid for his memory.

But that memory was still sufficient. Noctis was salt; he was nutritious and necessary and needed. By the same token, a tiny pinch of what remained was more than enough. 

There had always been something about Noctis that Ignis couldn’t quite place. His taciturn nature was constantly weaving in and out of silence and darkness. Occasionally he came up for air, then disappeared into his murky waters again. Ignis knew he didn't do it on purpose, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. But, like the sunrise over Lucis, Ignis illuminated and warmed those waters, a light cutting through the surface like the scar on Noctis' back. So it had always been; but Ignis had risen over a barren land these last 10 years, without him. 

Without life.

And so he paid his price and made his way back to Hammerhead, feeling a little dirtier, a little less human than before. If Noctis didn’t return soon, there would be nothing left of him to greet his king.

His insides felt like they’d never know peace as long as he remained so far from his reach.

He would earn every inch of him back. 

**____________________**

 

Ignis missed him - terribly. He missed his dark hair, his stare and his voice, thick with burgeoning manhood. He missed him now, as he scraped batter off the sides of a metal mixing bowl, the _scratch_ , _scratch_ , _scratch_ soothing to his ears. It used to aggravate him when he was younger. He'd never wanted to cook, and he didn't particularly like it now, but there was a goal he'd given himself. Until he was dead - and a great many things had attempted to kill him - he would try.

He was standing in Takka’s Pit Stop kitchen - or what was left of it. The smell of the oven heating up stuck in his nostrils. It was time to clean it again. It hadn’t been cleaned in some time - no one had time to fuss over a dirty oven when their comrades were being torn apart by daemons. He could do a number of things now, even without sight, and oven upkeep was among them. If it wasn’t kept clean, it quite literally affected the taste of his baking; right now, he poured a creation into the pan that was already doomed. But perhaps - perhaps - it could still teach him something.

It was hard to replicate a dish without first having tasted it. All he had to go on were the years and years of failures he’d already endured. Different crust. Less custard. Too sour. 

Even though Noctis was gone, Ignis continued to cook his tarts. He took copious notes while Noctis was with him, small notebooks dating back to his teen years, the paper worn and soft but the ink still strong on the page. Prompto sat with him one night and read his notes line by line, sometimes repeatedly. Ignis burned every inadequacy, every tweak, every suggestion into his brain. His memory was all he had now. 

Making those tarts kept him hopeful. He tasted everything, weighing the result against the information in his head, adjusting as he went along.

What would Noctis think?

He would have given anything to know, so long as he was there.

**____________________**

 

Once Prompto had disappeared again, and he felt the fire fading, Ignis made a wish. 

As an offering to the Astrals to grant his plea, he tossed his notebooks, one by one into the flames. They were a gift.

They were the death of his former life.

**____________________**

 

_“Well, well. You kept us waiting.”_  
_“Not like I wanted to. Come on, we’ve got some catching up to do.”_

And Ignis knew the gods existed.

**____________________**

 

A memory:

_"Did you enjoy your dinner?”_

_Noctis shrugged. “It was ok.”_

_Ignis waited a very long minute._

_“I added bacon.”_

_“Oh. Cool.”_

Ignis' eyes fell, and he turned away.

**____________________**

 

Ignis listened. He listened to what he already knew, and had known, for a decade. It lay unspoken in his mouth like a rotting tooth that made his entire jaw ache with the action he wasn’t taking. Slowly, he stood, to stir the pot a final time, feeding them, feeding _him_ , a final time. He wasn’t even sure what it meant anymore, to have his efforts nourish him. He had fed him his entire life - prepped him, sustained him - only for this moment to spirit him away like a dark lamb to the axe? He would have laughed at the unfairness of it all if he’d had laughter to give.

If he had it his way he would twist his fingers in the collar of those godforsaken raiments, take the two of them, and fall into that final fire. Their world would burn down to an unforgiving ash that never appreciated Noctis to begin with, not like _he_ did, not like he _could_. He’d cover him in vain, to shield him from the flames. He’d protect him until their bodies were no more, prophecy be damned. He would be his forever - their ash swirling together into the night sky.

**____________________**

 

Ignis listened to the sound of the fire behind him. Had he spent his life fattening Noctis for slaughter? Had he preserved him so the gods could feast on his soul and suck the very marrow that made him beautiful, and weirdly funny, and _alive_? He pulled the towel off the baking tray, took one of the small tarts out of its holder and placed it on a plate. He’d give it a final try, to match this final night.

“Your majesty.”

He waited.

**____________________**

 

The quiet gasp on Noctis' lips ricocheted around Ignis' root chakra.

"Is--is it acceptable?" Ignis' voice caught. Until now, he didn't realize how important this answer was. The validation of his entire life rested on a "yes," or a "no" in this moment.

His breath came faster now, beating against Ignis' face. That soft gasp again. The faint sound of swallowing.

“You did it. You--did it. Iggy, you--” 

Ignis exhaled for the first time since he was 5 years old. He’d never felt a greater achievement than he did right now. 

“I’m glad you like it,” was all he said.

One tart, signifying an entire life. Into Noctis it went - and with it - Ignis as well.

Forever - and never - again.


End file.
